


love me and mend

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning sunlight is spilling through the motel window, golden and warm and buttery soft. It makes the hairs on Cas’s arms stand on end, makes a shiver crawl down his spine. He inhales–-sandalwood, motor oil, fabric softener-–and chases the freckles across Dean’s shoulders with his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love me and mend

**Author's Note:**

> I've been roadtripping across America the last three weeks and I actually wrote this in the car & posted it to [tumblr](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/post/148719978863) a few days ago, so if you recognize it, that's why.

 

 

Dean’s lips must be beyond numb at this point, kiss-swollen and stubble-burnt, damp against Cas’s jaw where he’s breathing hard. Cas’s fingers tighten on the top of Dean’s head, digging into the soft hair there, pulling gently. It elicits a moan out of him, one of the sweetest sounds Cas has ever heard.

They’ve been at this for an hour already, Cas pushing Dean down into the mattress, thrusting into him slow and deep and steady. Their bodies are slick with sweat, tacky and burning-hot. It’s almost too much–-Cas feels like he might shake out of his bones, overwrought with the intensity of it. If he could accurately put into words what he felt for Dean in this moment, how grateful he is, how much he adores him… But he can’t so he says nothing, just kisses the crease of Dean’s neck, leaves a mark there that’ll take a few days to fade, so that he can press his thumb to it across a diner booth or in the car, and remember.

A pressure at the small of his back–-Dean’s heels, digging in–urge him impossibly deeper, harder. They gasp together, Cas’s hips jerking and Dean’s whole body trembling. He sobs and Cas kisses him, pushing their mouths together sloppy and wet.

“You’re–-” Dean starts, stops, hardly able to grit the words out. Cas waits patiently, his hand sliding over Dean’s chest and down his side, laying a palm over the barely-there softness around his waist.

“You’re so–-you’re the best thing for me,” he finally mumbles, and Cas’s heart swells two, three times, his so very human heart, that he didn’t think was capable of loving this much.

“I was thinking,” Cas says, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips that sends shudders through Dean, “just a minute ago, that there aren’t words for how badly I’m in love with you.”

Twin teardrops slide down Dean’s temples and into his hair but he smiles a small secret smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle around the corners.

Morning sunlight is spilling through the motel window, golden and warm and buttery soft. It makes the hairs on Cas’s arms stand on end, makes a shiver crawl down his spine. He inhales-–sandalwood, motor oil, fabric softener-–and chases the freckles across Dean’s shoulders with his lips.

“I thought you were dead,” he breathes, the words almost lost in the constellations on Dean’s skin. “I thought-–”

Dean shushes him, his hands touching everywhere they can reach, petting, soothing. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

But he almost wasn’t, and Castiel had believed that he was gone, and that agony still sits there behind his ribs, fills all those empty spaces and twines around his bones like tendrils of poison ivy. Even now, with the sound of Dean’s heart thumping under his ear and the heat of him, all-encompassing and overwhelming, it’s hard to believe he’s been returned, whole and alive.

There’s a tiny part of Cas that wonders if he’s gone mad again, if Mary Winchester sleeping in the room next door right now and Sam being missing and kissing Dean on a cheap mattress is nothing but a lucid dream. If being alone and following that simple text message, just a pair of coordinates, and finding Dean sitting with Mary on a gas station picnic bench and holding him for such a long time, until it wasn’t just their bodies pressed together but their mouths, was a vivid hallucination. Grief can do things to people, make them crazy–-this he knows.

Except he can feel Dean, and taste him and smell him and see him and when he clenches around Castiel, when he mutters desperate pleas into Cas’s hair, his jaw, his ear, it’s real. It’s beautiful.

“Come back to me,” Dean whispers, fingers pressing circles into the meat of Cas’s back. “Be here.”

Cas thrusts in hard, moving them up the bed. He meets Dean’s gaze, glassy-eyed and lust-blown as it is, and promises, “I’ll never be anywhere else.”

It’s not going to be easy. Anxiety is high with Sam gone and Dean is struggling to carve out a new relationship with Mary, who doesn’t know this version of him yet. They have no clue where to start searching, what to do next or where to go, but Cas will ensure that he’s there the whole way.

When he comes it’s like being struck by lightning, sudden and fierce and terrifying in its intensity. His muscles give out but his hips still quake, jerking spasmodically into Dean who’s whispering nice things, lovely things, into the shell of Cas’s ear while he brings himself off with his hand. It doesn’t take much and then he’s there with Cas, coasting that shaky high to a place where everything that isn’t the two of them seems tiny and unimportant.

They kiss for a long time afterwards, quiet and shivery with pleasure, until the shower in the room next door gurgles to life, and someone clatters at the ice machine outside, and then Dean sighs, his breath fanning hot over Cas’s jaw.

“We should get up,” he says, reluctance clear in his voice. Cas would like to stay in this bed for the rest of his life, however long that may be, provided Dean was next to him. But he knows the world outside of this room can’t wait; Sam needs to be found, and it needs to be soon before Dean starts losing rational thought and does something reckless.

Castiel should warn Mary about that.

Still, he pouts when Dean begins the laborious process of getting out of bed, catching hold of his wrist and not letting go until Dean grins and tangles their fingers together. He bends down to kiss him again, soft and giving.

“Stop distracting me,” he says, which is nonsensical when he is the one who is utterly distracting. There is so much skin that Cas hasn’t tasted yet.

“Am I allowed to suggest shower sex?”

Dean chokes a little, then uses his hold on Cas’s hand to start tugging him out of the bed and towards the bathroom.

“Cas, you can suggest whatever you like,” he assures him.

Maybe the world will give them a break, maybe it won’t. Maybe things will get worse before they get better. Castiel doesn’t know, but he does know that as long as he and Dean are side-by-side, anyone who steps in their way doesn’t stand a chance.


End file.
